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User blog:SkyrimsShillelagh/Nine Masks for Mother Ashna (Part 5)
Prelude Sixteen days later, I finally got inspiration. Enjoy! Nine Masks for Mother Ashna: Chapter 5 Dacian dropped their latest mask down on the table. That made five now. The most recent only had been in Ragnvald, near Markarth. Only three more to go, now. As he sat down, Ira was looking at him with barely concealed disdain. “You’re a cruel man, Dacian Bellamy.” The Breton shrugged, unoffended, and kicked back in his chair. “You’re not the first to tell me that.” “I’m sorry that your wife is ill, but that is no excuse for your behavior.” The normally jovial woman was not so jovial now. “Well maybe family isn’t as important to you as it is to me.” Dacian said, checking his nails. “You don’t give me that impression, with the way you treat your son.” Dacian looked up at Ira, and gave the plump woman a hard stare. She looked back innocently. Good. She thought. Now I’m getting somewhere. She just wanted to figure out why ''he was so emotionally distant. Maybe she could get him to open up a little, yeah? “Ira,” Dacian said with contempt, “do you know how my father treated me?” The woman shook her head. “He was a manipulative, hateful man. He neglected me. He never showed any interest in my life, in my own interests, how I felt, what I felt about things- anything. He didn’t even know my age most days. I think he blanked on my name quite frequently. In truth, I would have preferred him to be mean to me. Or to even beat me. Anything!” He got more and more fed up as he spoke. Ira leaned forward, resting her thick chin on the backs of her fingers. “And how did that make you feel?” “Well, I told you it made me feel- like an imbecile! All I wanted was a father who understood me and instead I got a hard ass with an agenda.” “Seems like he wasn’t very kind.” “Wasn’t very kind?! He tried to kill me once!” Ira nodded. “And how do you think Jean feels, when you embarrass him, or talk down to him? Do you think he wishes that you’d just understand him?” Dacian glanced back. His son was at the bar, just sitting around. “I was kinder, before. Well, I was kind for a period of time. Now I’m a lot like back how I was ''before him.” Dacian said quietly. Ira canted her head. “What do you mean?” Dacian smiled a tiny bit at the memory. “He changed everything. You don’t really know what love is until you’re a parent.” Ira grinned toothily at Dacian. “That is a touching sentiment, Mr. Bellamy. You should go share it with him.” Dacian looked over, furrowing his brow slightly. “You think so?” “Indeed.” Ira said. Dacian nodded once, and then went over to Jean. He tapped his son on the shoulder, and the two got to talking. Well that’s nice. You did a good thing, Ira. The priestess thought to herself with a smile. There was a loud smack behind her, and she turned in her seat. Three men had entered the inn- an Imperial, an Orc, and a Nord. None of them looked friendly. And these were only the heavily armed once, all of them bearing steel equipment. More thugs filed in behind. Oh goodness. Ira thought to herself. Well, I better keep my head down… “You!” The Orc bellowed, jabbing a finger at her. The shout killed all noise in the tavern. His eyes traveled from Ira, to the mask on the table in front of her. Oh goodness indeed. ''The Orc headed for Ira, and she knew she was largely defenseless. All her spells were Restoration based. If this Orc happened to be a Draugr, he was in for a nasty surprise, but Ira found that unlikely. The Orc reached out, to grab her by the throat… “Hey!” Someone called. The Orc looked up. Ira punched him in the mouth. ---- The Orc stumbled backwards from the blow, which had resounded with a sickening crack when Ira had put her plentiful weight behind the punch. He stumbled backwards, turned his head to the side, and spit teeth out. He looked back to Ira. If looks could kill, Ira would be a buried corpse. “Gewt ‘er!” He roared, his voice slightly garbled from the lack of front teeth. The rest of the thugs surged forward, but there was a screech of chairs as every able bodied man- and woman- stood up. It never boded well to threaten a Nordic priestess in a Nordic inn. The thugs reached for their weapon, the Nords reached for theirs, and there were cries of “Get that Nord!” and “Death to the Empire!” before the biggest tavern brawl Jean had ever seen started. Then again, Jean had never seen a bar fight before. ''Shit- is that guy getting stabbed over theer?! His father was watching the crowd with narrow eyes, taking an unwavering stance. Jean decided, despite his father’s faults, he was glad to have a father who wasn’t afraid of much, if anything. It was inspiring. “Stay close to me.” Papa warned, before surging forward into the crowd, towards the mask. Around them punches were through, axes were swung, and there was general chaos as people were thrown through furniture. Dacian was the first to the mask, setting his hand on it quickly. But before he could pull it back, the Mr. Toothless Orc was there, one green hand clasping around Papa’s wrist. “You.” The Orc snarled. The Breton didn’t reply, instead he lunged across the table and tackled the Orc to the ground, starting a brawl of his own. Jean was going to watch or assist, he didn’t know, but suddenly something hit him in the side, jarring his shoulder. The force was suddenly and launched him onto his side. Jean-Claude hit the hard ground in a daze, and when he looked up, he saw one of the original thugs to enter standing over him- the Nord in steel plated armor. And he did not look happy. Jean-Claude eyes widened in fear, but he wasn’t able to say a thing. Too meaty hands grabbed him around the throat, and lifted him the ground like he was nothing. Jean kicked and squirmed, losing lucidity as the blood and air flow was cut off from his brain. Need to think fast… The idea came quickly. He let his leg go limp, stretching it down, and then kicked out with force, pointing the toe of his boot upwards. The Nord cried as Jean’s boot sank into his crotch- there was no armor there, only fur. Nord dropped Jean to the ground, and the Breton landed on all fours, gasping for air. He shoved himself to his feet, and turned to run, but received a boot in the back. He cried out as pain shot up his spine and he was tossed forward again, crashing into one of the door of one of the inn’s many rooms. The door burst open as the boy was flung into it, and Jean tumbled inside. “Ugh…” He groaned as the Nord walked in after him, his eyes murderous. Before Jean could do a thing the heavy man had straddled his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs, and was strangling him again. Jean squirmed and tried to pry the man’s hands lose, but it was fruitless. He couldn’t even gasp as his face turned blue and his eyes bulged. He gradually embraced death. Then there was a loud clang and the Nord tumbled off of Jean. The Breton gasped for air, sucking wind, trying to get as much into his lungs as possible. Ira stood over him, clutching a pan. “You alright?” Jean coughed in response. “Come on, let’s get out of here- quickly!” The Breton didn’t argue, and let Ira pull him to his feet. The main hall was jam-packed full of bodies. They climbed out a window. ---- The Orc spat blood, wheezing as Dacian cocked his fist back to drive another blow home. “Hwold wit!” The Orc begged. “The mwask! Dun yoai wun toe know who wons it?” Dacian hesitated. The Orc realized he couldn’t speak, so instead, he reached into his armor. Dacian’s grip tensed, but the Orc only pulled forth a note, and extended it to Dacian. The Breton took it as he rose to his feet. He was about to stomp the Orc’s face in, when he paused, suddenly thinking of Jean. “You should find a new line of work- and don’t come after me again, you arrogant fool.” Dacian warned. He stormed off, given a wide berth by the other brawlers, and retrieved his mask. The main hall was jam packed full of bodies. He used the front door. Outside, Dacian met up with Ira and Jean, having caught the priestess’ eye when he saw them escaping. “You find out what that was all about?” Ira asked. She was holding a pan that had blood smearing on the flat side of it. “I am not sure.” The Breton said, and held up his note. “But I was given this.” He unrolled the paper, and the two others gathered around him. First, in poorly scrawled hand-writing. Orders from up top. Pompous wanker, right? Then in looping, elegant script. Mogarg. Head to Dragon’s Bridge. In the inn there, you’ll find that mask. Bring it to me. Take all the men you’ll need. I do not expect you'll need many, for although this Breton is a versatile opponent, he is not unbeatable. After all, he is just one man. Be swift, my people are not as forgiving as I am. Justicar Anaric. “Thalmor?” Ira wondered aloud, confused. “Why would they want the masks?” Dacian shrugged. “Same reason I want them.” Both Ira and Jean raised a brow. For all they knew, they thought he would use them to magically heal his sick wife. Dacian smiled, before giving them the proper conclusion. “Immortality.” Part 6 Category:Blog posts Category:Return of the King Category:Stories